


The Pull of Gravidity

by Hoodoo



Series: The Long Arm of the Law [5]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy Test, Worry for the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-21 02:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13730934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: Two to three minutes, waiting, stretches eons. Reader takes a pregnancy test . . .





	1. Chapter 1

Two to three minutes.

It was a short time. 

It was an eternity.

You set the timer on your phone, sank to the floor, and waited. 

Your thoughts tumbled like a rockslide, small ones bouncing, gaining speed, loosening larger ones:

—you were late. You were late lots of times, but this felt different

—you _told_ him not to use a condom

—because you were on birth control

—but you missed pills, you stupid stupid person

— _you missed pills_

—you were on birth control, but you missed pills, and now your period was late

—you weren’t late you were— 

—pregnant

—pregnant

—pregnant

—pregnant

—what were you going to do

—what was _he_ going to do

—he didn’t have a family before, he told you

—would he be happy

—would he want this

—did he want a family

—would he _say_ he wanted a family

—but then leave 

—leave like Ricks did

—you know Ricks leave, it’s their nature

—it’s ingrained, you think

—he wasn’t even from your dimension

—he would be forced to leave, even if he didn’t want to

—he would be a good father

—you know it

—what were you going to _do_

—pregnant

— _pregnant_

—the alarm on your phone chirped. It startled you. With a shaking hand, you reach for the slim pregnancy test sitting above you near the sink. You keep your eyes tightly shut as you lower it to the level to be read. 

Taking a breath that is as shaky as your hand was, you open your eyes all at once.


	2. Chapter 2

Negative.

A moan of relief _—or is it disappointment?—_ escapes you.

There’s a light knock on the door. 

“Baby?” Rick calls. He’s followed, since you had crawled out of bed so early and didn’t return. “You okay?”

Tears flood your eyes. You don’t know why, and still don’t know what you’re feeling.

Rick doesn’t knock again. He opens the door and takes in the scene—you sitting on the floor, weepy, a negative pregnancy test in your slack hands. He’s confused, then as he comprehends what he’s seeing, he’s just as speechless as you are.

Then he finds his voice to ask quietly again, “Baby?” 

Your mind is still reeling from the wave of worry and fear with the tiny ribbon of hope winding through it, and you almost, almost answer in gallows humor, “No baby. I’m not pregnant.” But the sane part of your brain reminds you you hadn’t relayed your concern to him—he had no idea your period was late and you’d gotten so terrified you were pregnant, so you took this test without even giving him the common courtesy of telling him—so you take a quaking breath and instead reply, 

“I’m okay Rick.”

In those three words he knows you’re lying. He doesn’t say anything about the test. He doesn’t ask about it; doesn’t say that he’s happy or sad at the result he can obviously see. Rick only pulls you to your feet, ignores the fact that the plastic test drops from your hands and clatters to the floor, and takes you back to bed. 

He holds you as you silently cry, and still doesn’t say another word. 

When you get up later, after him, the bathroom is clean and all evidence of the test is gone.

_fin._


End file.
